


Disaster came in three

by mimerswell



Series: Bells [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Adolescence, Blood and Injury, Dialogue Heavy, Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced child abuse & neglect, Murdering, Racism, Year of 1877, graphic depictions of death, non-canon, past trauma, several plotlines, talking of past events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimerswell/pseuds/mimerswell
Summary: Ending up north, Arthur and the Bell family find themselves in trouble of several kinds.
Relationships: Amos Bell & Arthur Morgan, Micah Bell & family
Series: Bells [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773850
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Not a father. Not a son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s behaviour is questioned by Old Micah, all while winter hits them early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there.
> 
> There will be some references in subjects and dialogues to my previous fic "Keep on riding," as these works are connected. It might prove difficult to read this part alone... but not impossible. 
> 
> Enjoy, either way, I hope.

"Shit…"

Arthur side eyes the man that holds his gloved hand out, palm turned up to the sky. He can hardly see the man's face - his eyes the only part of him that isn't covered. The same goes for Arthur, with his hat pulled down tight and his blue bandana pulled up all the way to the bridge of his nose. 

"It was only a matter of time," Arthur comments as the other watches the few single snowflakes melt away slowly on his cold glove. "Or did you think the snow would forget this part of the country?" Arthur smiles underneath his bandana. 

Micah Bell Jr. glances at the boy as their horses move in a slow walk across the hard and frozen ground. "Didn't think it would hit us this early. It's only October."

"Snow don't arrive in October?" Arthur continues, half serious; which isn't hard to read from his voice going up a pitch on the last word.

"Why, you seem to be in a good mood today, Arthur… It's a nice exchange from that…" The man guides his hand back to the reins to accompany his other. He turns his head fully to the boy riding beside him, searching for the right word. "...that _sour_ look of yours that you've been carrying lately."

Arthur’s eyes sink to the ground before Bo's head. Bo is the name he had eventually given his Thoroughbred. Same horse that had belonged to a deputy Micah had killed three years prior near the town of widowers. Arthur brushes his gloved fingers through the hairs of Bo's black and rich mane, more than a few white snowflakes having landed in it. 

"So _now_ you're _not_ in the mood to talk. It's one of _those_ days. I see," the blonde says when the boy keeps his silence too long for his liking. Without second thought, he spurs for Ree to speed up in his walk, leaving Arthur slightly behind. 

Arthur’s gaze sticks to the man like glue as the blonde without another word easily ends the conversation and the small attention he had been giving the boy. 

With a _very_ sour look on his face, Arthur turns left and leaves the trail, rebelling against the narrowly grown trees in the great forest. Bo moves swiftly and avoids each obstacle with grace. 

The blonde shoots a look back over his shoulder when it becomes completely quiet, realising that the boy is nowhere to be seen. The forest is rich with trees and he only catches a glimpse of a figure quickly moving away from him. 

"Arthur?" Old Micah calls and gives a look in disbelief although no one is around to see it. Surely, the boy wouldn't take off like that. 

He huffs to himself as it seems like Arthur, in fact, has. He moves Ree quickly around as in a circle to continue along the trail but changes his mind in the middle of it and moves back to the direction of Arthur's new path. 

That's when he hears Arthur call from a distance, his voice sounding somewhat humored. "Come find me then!"

The man lowers his head, thinking that they didn't have time for games. But of course, moving through the forest would work just as well as the road. He was never one to lose his sense of direction. 

The man looks up from under the brim of his hat as the world is quickly turning whiter and colder. Then he enters the massive forest of wildlife, filled with endless dangers if one wasn't careful. His very cold blue eyes search the ground for traces after Arthur. While invisible to some at first glance, it is no hard work for him. Especially not when so freshly made. 

^^^

He believes fifteen minutes must have passed and while Arthur isn't one to become easily frightened, he's somewhat affected by how much quieter it becomes when riding further into the forest. The snow has fallen here already, creating a thin layer of white landscape all over. It's beautiful but terrifying, being so tiny in a world that seems so much bigger than whenever they pass a simple town or settlement. The snow is by no means thick yet, making it easy for Bo to move around on. 

Arthur enjoys the fresh but cold air as he rides freely. His game of come-find-me having no point other than an answer to his curiosity if the man would choose to follow or not. 

Their bond, because they did share something, is difficult to understand, even for Arthur himself. While it isn't exactly filled with love and comfort, some sort of companionship or obligation to each other still exist - forming under the few years together. Despite having no expectations in learning more of the man, Arthur still feels something missing inside of him. Having a father figure was never something he thought he would crave again but as the three years had passed, their strained relationship always seemed to reach an impenetrable blockade. 

And now he wanted _more_. But the man wouldn't offer it. Whenever Arthur got the sense of having someone that genuinely cared for him, the man would pull back just as abruptly, leaving a half warm feeling of safety inside of him. Enough to feel trust towards the man, but not enough to feel love. And it always left him unfulfilled. 

And besides, riding along that road for an hour straight was enough to make Arthur's whole body itch. So he creates this route for himself, exploring and enjoying what he loves best - the freedom of nature. 

He doesn't know how many more minutes have passed as he suddenly hears a loud bang from a shot in the distance. A couple of miles north at most. 

Bo halts and Arthur squints his eyes, half expecting to see shadows of enemies moving towards him. Silence is all that meets him for a long long minute. 

^^^

Like the first few times he had spoken to Arthur, the blonde man wonders what exactly was going on in the boy's head as he observes him without the boy knowing. Having followed him for twenty minutes, give or take, it is like the boy doesn't even bother with hiding from him. 

Riding slowly about a hundred yards away from the boy's right side, the blonde follows him like a wolf pack lure on its prey. Although he has no malicious intent, he doesn't let his presence known to Arthur, becoming interested in the boy's intentions with running away from him this half-heartedly. 

As a shot from a hunting rifle ring out across the forest, he becomes very still, Ree and Bo both stopping in a halt by the second. 

After listening for any more action, the blonde raises a brow as the boy without hesitation continues to ride and he does so towards the source of the shot. 

"C'mon, Ree," he speaks to his horse and trots along Arthur's route. 

^^^

Arthur rides towards the sound he had heard, knowing it could be their destination, or it could be something else entirely. 

He glances at all directions around him. Surely, the blonde had heard it too. Despite Arthur not seeing the man, a part of him just knows that's he's lurking somewhere. Keeping an eye on Arthur and on the possible danger to them. Always one step ahead. 

Pulling out his revolver, Arthur holds it steady in hand while riding closer to the area where whatever weapon had been fired. Being this far out in the wild, he is becoming more certain that it isn't a shot fired to kill a _man_. 

No. Someone was hunting. 

Arthur stops and observes his surroundings. In order to do so more thoroughly, he dismounts and moves by foot instead. "Stay here, boy," he says to Bo. 

Trekking slowly through the snow that is becoming thicker the further he goes, he keeps his gun raised so that it could come to use faster were the situation demanding it. 

Hiding himself behind tree to tree and using them to his advantage, he has no idea if there is someone lurking behind a tree of their own. Looking downwards to the snowy ground, he notices quite a few footprints fresh enough to know someone is still in the area. 

He also sees the footprints of various animals, at some point very many only to scatter in different directions. And the very spot where they scatter is where some few blood drops create a trail on their own. It's more distance between every drop at first, only for them to thicken. An animal, bleeding and running at first, only to slow down and give in to its wound. 

Arthur hears the deer before he sees it. 

The animal is in pain further away, not sounding like anything he had ever heard before. It's complaining, almost, lying on its side with an entry wound on its hind leg. Not an ideal spot to shoot it but it seems to have done its trick as the animal is quickly bleeding out from it. The deer wails and struggles with getting up but to no success. 

Arthur guesses it will be dead within a minute or two. 

As he stands about twenty yards away from it, he sees a glimpse of a dark and well clothed figure move swiftly, away to hide. Arthur hurries to take cover as well, pressing his back in an instant to a massive trunk of a tree. 

His breaths come out quicker but still remain steady. He keeps quiet for a long time, enough for the dying animal to be silent permanently. 

Arthur decides to form his lips to whistle on a tune that the members of his group used between one another. 

When another familiar tune is returned to him, he smirks under the bandana covering his face. With his gun ready, he decides to lunge forth and move quick, taking cover from tree to tree in his way towards the other. 

Arthur sees a few more glimpses of him, moving just as methodically to avoid confrontation to one's disadvantage. 

Arthur almost laughs as the both of them practically end up behind the opposite sides of the same tree but he hopes the other hasn't realised as much. 

With an aiming gun in front of him, he makes the last low-effort move to show himself but is met by the same aiming of a gun to his own face. 

"A tie," Amos states and Arthur can see the outline of a smug smile too under that red squared bandana of his. 

"I guess," Arthur answers his friend. 

"You guessed wrong then," another voice sighs tiredly from behind Arthur, who rolls his eyes at the sound of _him_. Soon-to-be seventeen year old Micah not so gently shoves the muzzle of their hunting rifle into Arthur's back. He moves closer, leaning forward to him. "Means you're _dead_ ," he speaks scornfully against Arthur's ear, only to pull away the rifle and rest it over his own shoulder. 

"Two to one. Ain't exactly fair game," Arthur comments, not turning around to Micah just yet. 

"Ain't exactly a fair world we live in, kid, now _is it?"_ the blonde kid shoots out and backs away from them both to proceed with what he and Amos had been here to do in the first place. 

Arthur and Amos still keeps eye contact as they lower their guns to holster them. Only now does Arthur notice how drastically the temperature seem to have dropped. 

Amos' breaths leave him like steam from an engine. "Where is pa?" he asks Arthur. 

" _He_ is right here." The so ever familiar clear voice take the two of them by surprise but at the same time not. The man prefers after all to be discovered last. "And _he_ is satisfied that our merry little group is once again one," he says and rests his eyes on Arthur a little longer than on the other boys. He walks towards them, leading both Ree and Bo behind him in their reins. "A successful hunt, I see. Snow made it easier, hm?" 

Amos pulls the bandana further up over his half frozen face, giving a look to his father and then walking over to a squatting Micah by the now dead deer. "Yes sir, the tracking went faster. Snow must have come an hour ago, never seen it fall down so heavy…" his youngest tells him. 

Old Micah looks up to the sky, some snowflakes landing on his eyelashes. "Yeah well… being this far north, it's bound to get even worse from now on." 

Amos nods. "We've got some food to last a couple of days." He cocks his head to the now dead animal that Micah is busy with stowing on Tido. With his age, Micah had become strong enough in arms and back to do so without a single grunt leaving his lips. "Should we find shelter somewhere, pa?" Amos continues. 

"Me and Arthur rode for an hour. Didn't see no house or even a rundown shack on our way here…" The blonde man gazes towards the unknown territory ahead that they were yet to explore, respecting it. "I don't know what's up ahead neither… I figure we will have to make do for now." 

The oldest son looks around the small glade they find themselves in. "You mean making camp here and now?" Micah asks, glaring somewhat at his father. Something that the man stores in his memory. 

"What do you _think_ I mean, Micah?" the man asks back in a monotone voice and straight face. 

"Oh. _Naaaa-thing._ Just that… You could've said something sooner, _daddy dear_." Micah gives a sarcastic smile and throws away the rope in his hand. He carries down the deer from his horse, unhappy about the extra work. 

"Perhaps you shouldn't have taken for granted that we were to continue riding," the father points out. "No… We need to regain our strength. We've been riding for days."

Micah drops the deer so that it lands on its side with a heavy thud. The animal is skinny but it's all they have for now. He can hear his own stomach growl aggressively and he knows he isn't the only one that's exhausted after a quick look at his family members. They all look like he feels. 

He and his father had robbed a post office a few days prior by the town's train station. They hadn't been prepared for two lawmen being in the area to literally send off some letters on their own. The successful but attention drawing shootout that had followed left the two lawmen dead and numerous others wounded, leading to the very first bounty on Micah’s head and another one on his father's. They had ridden ever since, leaving the state of West Virginia altogether in a hurry. 

"My mistake, sir," Micah eventually says, choosing to swallow his pride. 

The blonde doesn't show any appreciation to Micah bending to his will because of the young man's first attempt of doing the opposite. 

"I'll make a fire," Arthur murmurs in his adolescent voice, becoming far lower in pitch than only a year prior. 

The man doesn't answer him, expecting them all to know what to do. As he gets on with collecting the packing from their horses to put up the two tents they have, Amos and Micah help each other with hanging up the deer from a strong branch of a tree. 

While Micah is gifted with the knife, Amos surpasses him in hunting, including skinning the animals. Amos believes the other's lack of enthusiasm is the biggest reason for the lesser results. Micah never did find any fun in hunting, too impatient to track or wait around until he could just ' _s_ _hoot the damn thing,'_ as he puts it. 

Arthur mumbles to himself as he looks for firewood, wandering off on the others as he isn't pleased with his findings nearby. "Too damn wet…all of them…" He curses to himself and walks around, kicking and brushing lightly at the snow with his foot. 

He stops in his steps as he believes he hears a distant and booming sound of riders in the forest. He remains very still for the longest of seconds. 

He can't see anyone or anything move out there but he is certain that the sound must have come from at least three horses or more.

When there isn't a sign of any enemies or wildlife, he decides to backtrack for a few minutes. He looks around with suspicion, his senses being on high alert the whole walk until he finds some branches and twigs dry enough to use. 

When he squats, he makes sure to keep his ears peeled but all he can hear are the various tweeting sounds coming from a blue jay nearby, close enough for him to see it sit atop a branch high up. 

When his arms are full, he heads back. Despite there being no one person present but him, Arthur moves with quicker steps on his way back, his eyes searching for anything that could be a danger to him. When nothing ever appears, he tells himself he must have imagined it with a shake of his head. 

^^^

Micah’s bloodied hands are freezing from the raw and cold air after he is done with cutting and removing all edible parts from the animal. Amos is already preparing to cook all of it by the big fire Arthur had lit up, the latter having walked a few more times to gather firewood to last at least a couple of hours. 

Lowering himself and rubbing his hands in it, the snow turns to a dark pink shade beneath him. Whatever blood Micah doesn't get off from his fingers, he licks off with a greedy tongue. 

Arthur observes the older kid from where he is standing with his side leaned against a tree, a deep frown on his forehead as some blood is still covering the corners of Micah’s lips. He can see the red even from this distance. 

"Sir."

Arthur can sense the man standing behind him. As if the air becomes slightly colder around him whenever he comes close. 

If old Micah is impressed by his high awareness, he would never let the other know. "Arthur." 

The child shifts uncomfortably, speaking without looking behind him. "Sir, I thought I heard riders. Before. When gathering firewood. T'was only shortly but I couldn't see anyone."

"Where?"

"South direction it was. Where we came from." 

"Might have come from the road." The man doesn't seem so worried.

Arthur shrugs a shoulder to that. "Might...it didn't sound too close. Although… it didn't seem like a road so traveled."

Old Micah grunts. "Me and Micah can take a look if you're sure of it."

"I can come with you," Arthur offers a tad too enthusiastic. He shuts his mouth and bites his lower lip just as quickly. 

"Nah… You might just run off on me again."

Arthur lowers his chin slightly but keeps his gaze forward. 

"I was just playing around, sir," he brushes off and focus his eyes again at an irritated Micah that moves around to search for _something_ that was put away _somewhere_ on his horse. "I didn't run off…" 

"A pathetic attempt of it then. For what? Proving some point I don't understand?" 

Arthur grinds his teeth. "Like I said, was just playing around, sir…" 

"Now, I don't believe that. Not for a second, Arthur." Old Micah sounds so certain, knowing. "I think you did it just to piss me off." 

"I didn't-"

"Yeah you did. And you expected it to not become a problem, hm? I don't like getting pissed off." 

Arthur darts his eyes to left and right by the attack. "Look, if I really wanted to run off, you never would've found me… Sir." He couldn't help but say it. 

The man smirks to himself, looking down at the boy that is now roughly one head shorter than him. "You really believe that?" He finally moves a step or two to stand next to Arthur observing the tiny camp they had made. 

Arthur turns his head slightly so that he can look from the corner of his eye at him. "Yeah." 

"So you assume I would've come looking for you?" The man tilts his head. "If you _really_ would've run off, that is?" 

"I don't…" Arthur chews on his lip, not having a good answer prepared. "I don't assume anything…"

"Would you have _hoped_ for it, then?" 

Arthur suddenly feels very small when spoken to in the man's sardonic way. "No," he lies. 

"Why?" the man asks anyway, as if he didn't notice the lie after all. 

Arthur shakes his head. "Nothing of importance." 

"C'mon. I'm curious." 

Arthur snorts and prepares to leave the man's side to see if he could help Amos with the meat. As he is afraid of, the man doesn't allow him to leave. He isn't surprised when he is dragged back in the middle of his steps by a hard grip around his arm. He stumbles backwards right back to the man's side. 

"C'mon…I said it was nothing…" Arthur tries and averts the man's seeking and penetrating eyes as he is pressed uncomfortably to the same tree he had been leaning against. 

"And I said I was _curious_ ," the man repeats, articulating the words harder. He glances at both Amos and Micah that are aware that he is having a _talk_ with the third boy, both of them having been in the same spot more times than they could count. Sharing a life together like this, made all of them rather good at shutting out what was happening right in front of them. 

"You've been acting strange lately, boy. Like your head is filled with things that don't quite fit in there." Old Micah lifts his other hand to tap a finger twice at Arthur's temple. "And now it's _leaking out_." He is keeping a low tone, enough for the other boys to not hear. 

Arthur doesn't appreciate being held in place, it reminds him too much of the many times he couldn't escape his father's hand when cornered. Beaten. Punished. Not so different from this man's treatment. He tries to still himself inside, breathing deeply through his nose. 

Arthur locks eyes with Micah who clearly sees what's going on. With half a smile, almost as cold and impersonal as the man's, Micah lowers himself to sit by the fire, pulling out a whetstone - the item he apparently had been looking for, and starts to sharpen his knife with a slightly humored look on his face.

"I've been tired. We've ride for days…and not eaten anyt-" 

"You're not a very good liar, Arthur." The man squeezes and bends his arm painfully. "What's really going on?" 

The blonde man could be patient but not with his boys.

"Speak. Before I break this arm in half." 

"Am I just dirt to you too?" Arthur forces it out in a hurry, truthfully, still avoiding to look at him.

The man tightens his grip somewhat. "What?" 

Arthur is hesitant of course but he prefers to keep his arm in one piece. "Some days it feels like you hate our goddamn guts… Other days, it's like you don't at all… And I don't know what to think." Arthur pauses, feeling hesitant to bring up the man's name. "Lyle never cared for me but at least I knew… knew what I meant to him. So. Am I just dirt to you too?" Arthur continues with an almost catatonic face. He doesn't care that his words might not make a lot of sense to him or even serving as an answer to the man's question. These were his feelings. Leaking out. 

There is only silence except a few exchanges of words between Amos and Micah by the fire. Small talk. 

Arthur doesn't know how much time have passed when the man finally says "Look at me, child." 

Arthur doesn't want to. 

"Look at me," he demands again and lets go of Arthur's arm. 

Arthur does. 

The man's eyes had always scared him. Despite having blue eyes himself, he doubted his own had the ability to shift so intensely as the man's. It was like he had one shade for every feeling and Arthur sometimes believed he had learned to read the man by simply looking into his eyes. Right now they felt… Warm. Like so many other confusing times. 

"You're right, Arthur," the man states. 

Arthur’s eyes drift over the man's face, searching for anything readable.

"That truly was _nothing_ of importance…" he explains, the words causing Arthur’s gaze to crash to the ground. And like so many other times, the man's eyes once again manage to trick him. "You're not my son, remember?" 

Arthur do remembers. Refusing to go by the name of Bell a couple of years back. 

"So don't expect me to act like a better man than your father. Hell… Don't _ever_ expect _anything_ of me… things like that… They only lead to disappointment."

Arthur swallows. "I know." 

"Yeah, _I know_ you know. You just needed a reminder, ain't that right?" It was a threat if Arthur ever heard one. 

Arthur wonders what had changed to make him feel this… Vulnerable. He didn't like the feeling at all, remembering how easy it was to live back then. Back when he had his father. It was hell, but at least he felt nothing, didn't held any hopes. Now, he had let his guard down and begged for too much of things he would never have. "That's right, sir." He manages to give a brief smile. 

"Good."

Arthur feels even emptier than before as the man leaves his side. 

He calls for his oldest son to search the surrounding area of their camp. 

^^^

While Old Micah and his oldest had discovered some faint tracks south of camp, all of them leading away from there, more snow had fallen to cover the ground's surface anew. 

"It could be wanted men on the run, or it could be simple passerbys. It's not only us who wander these lands, after all," the blonde man had said when it had become impossible to make any more sense of the sound Arthur had allegedly heard. 

After, they all had shared a meal as the world had become darker. 

"That somber look don't suit your face, Arthur. Lighten it up some, will you?" Micah complains as they are about to turn in for the night, their stomachs not aching from a three day hunger anymore. 

"Why won't you shut up for once, Micah." 

With the years, Arthur had learned that ignoring Micah is the best way to get on his nerves in return and eventually cause him to stop. However, Arthur doesn't have the patience to do so this night. 

Micah merely acts like he didn't hear him. "About before… What did _daddy_ have to say to you, hm?" he asks instead. 

"It's none of your business," Arthur murmurs with eyes closed. 

"Have you been a _baaaad boy_ , Arthur?" Micah continues, speaking very low. 

The oldest practically crashes down on his bedroll in the small wedge tent the two of them share. Arthur is already lying down on his back. He is freezing somewhat by the below zero air, despite the fire just outside doing its part. He shivers. 

"It's _none_ of _your_ _business_ ," he repeats, more aggressively now. 

"My… So easy on the trigger." Micah teases him, eager to get a reaction. 

Arthur doesn't offer one except turning his back to Micah, eager to fall asleep. 

Micah is slightly disappointed, shifting on the bedroll and bothering the other further. 

"You know. You should be nicer to me Arthur, not to mention _grateful_. At least today. If it weren't for me, you would've been hungry still. I killed that animal so that we could eat. _I did._ " 

Arthur _is_ grateful. And he _was_ nice to Micah. As long as the other wouldn't press his buttons. Something he did whenever Arthur needed it the least. Like now. 

"If it hadn't been for you, _but mostly_ Amos. He was the one to drag you out in the first place, right?" Arthur points out and twists his torso just so he could see the look on Micah’s face. 

This makes Micah quiet. Amos had suggested he and Micah would ride ahead to busy themselves with getting some food. 

Old Micah had told Arthur when he took him in three years ago that one hunted their own food if they were hungry, simple as that. With the years, Arthur had learned this not being exactly true. Hunting bigger game were mostly shared between them all as an unwritten rule. Especially in winter times. So Micah’s statement ticks him off particularly - as if the blonde was claiming he could've denied Arthur the food. 

"But you're right. You was the one to kill the animal, no doubt." Arthur decides to tease the other back, speaking with a sarcastic voice. "I mean. You hate hunting, Micah. And it shows. _Oooh it shooows…_ When I saw that deer I knew straight away it was you who had done the shooting and not Amos-" 

Micah shoots to the other and grabs at Arthur's collar with both his hands, yanking him back so that the younger is forced to his back again. "What's that supposed to mean, kid?" he challenges him to explain further. 

Arthur is clearly humored by the other's instant reaction, not noticeably intimidated by the threatening grip on his clothing. Internally, he is somewhat surprised by Micah’s inability to hold back his dislike. "You're supposed to shoot it in the head or neck or whatever, but you shot it in the damn leg." Arthur laughs out in the same way as Micah usually does, somewhat methodically, just to make him angrier. 

Micah inhales and exhales in short bursts through his nose as he looms over him. "Well I don't see you doing a better job, Arthur. You scare them animals off before you've _even_ gotten an aim at 'em." He grins widely to taunt him. 

Arthur stares into the empty blue eyes. For some reason, he doesn't believe Micah have truly taken offense. He believes that the other didn't _really_ care of the insult. If he had, Arthur would've had his nose broken already. Most of the times, it felt like Micah acted accordingly to what he _believed_ was expected of him more than how he actually felt. "Maybe," Arthur forces out. "But I'm trying at least." Arthur had a lot to learn still, but he never lost his enthusiasm or passion about it. Micah on the other hand, had seemed to have lost it entirely lately. As if he didn't care about anything anymore.

Arthur’s eyes drift over Micah’s face, lower and lower until they end up on his lips creating his distinct smile. There was some blood around them still. 

"I got sick once while doing that, you know," Arthur says and cocks his head at the other's face. 

"...what?" Micah is taken out of focus and he lets go of Arthur's collar slightly. 

"Eating uncooked meat." 

Micah’s head turns slack a second before he ultimately pushes away from the younger and sits on his heels beside Arthur with a sigh. The unexpected comment seems to be enough for them to forget the intense but short-lasting dispute, or more like pretend it never happened in the first place. 

Arthur pulls himself up to lean on his elbows and to face the other fully. He supposes both of them are more tired than any of them liked to admit. The last few days hadn't been kind on them. 

When he doesn't add anything else to the conversation, Micah huffs and shakes his head. "Yes... Go on, Arthur. Please tell me. _Why_ _were_ you eating uncooked meat," he asks without much enthusiasm, but at the same time knowing they didn't have anything better to talk about. 

Micah eventually lowers himself to lie down next to the other, using his arms as pillow as he stares up at the tent. 

Arthur pulls his quilt further up over his body, a few more shivers leaving him. "Was six years old. Lyle had been gone for days so I went around looking for him but couldn't find him anywhere. Had no money, no food. No nothing…" 

Micah raises a brow, trying to figure something logical out. "Couldn't you have asked for some food in town?" 

"Tried to take some at a general's… and got myself caught. Earned this scar here by the hands of the owner." Arthur lifts his chin slightly. Micah had seen it a hundred times but had never asked where it came from, only assuming it was from Arthur's father. "He was kind enough to let me go… afterwards. So I went… Wandered for a day until I stumbled upon this… this racoon. It had hurt his leg and was limping around, vultures was flying over it already… and _well…_ " A single look from him is enough to tell the other the rest of that animal's fate. 

Micah smirks lightly by the image of Arthur killing and devouring a racoon raw. "Hm… How-" 

"I had a knife on me." 

"Ah." Micah seems more amused by it than horrified. "What about your old man? Did you find him?" 

"Lyle found _me_ eventually, I was sick as a dog by then… He had been drinking for three days, ending up in a town miles away for some reason…" Arthur expressions shift as he tries to remember it all but the details are all blurry by now, especially when being as sleepy as he is starting to become. 

Although Micah doesn't care much for returning to one's memories, this was one of few the kid had shared with him. Arthur rarely spoke of his father, let alone his past. With another sigh, Micah turns his head again to stare up at the ceiling, feeling the atmosphere to become far too heavy again for his liking. He stops the memories of his mother before they even have a chance to make themselves known. "Did it _taste_ good at least?" 

Arthur lets out a short lasting chuckle, Micah joining in half a second later. "No. It was awful." 

Their laughing fades out but a smile lingers on Arthur's lips as he observes the older kid. 

"Well. If we ever catch one, I'll make sure to find a way to cook it properly. I'm sure it ain't half as bad," Micah suggests, hoping that the kid would forget all about it if they ever were to go out hunting together. It was a promise he would absolutely never keep. 

"Sure." Arthur then yawns, noticeably relaxing with his eyelids becoming heavier. 

Micah on the other hand couldn't manage to sleep every night and put little effort into even trying. He doesn't become tired like the kid does. Whenever he finally could get some sleep, it was when he was too exhausted to stay awake. And he rarely became exhausted except when he hadn't slept for days. It was his cycle. 

Arthur turns away again and moves himself to lie more comfortably. Within a couple of minutes, soft snores could be heard. 

Micah twists and turns for a long while, not quite able to still himself. 

Arthur sleeps lightly at first but mostly it's because of the cold, with another few shivers leaving his body. 

Micah rolls his eyes and scoots closer to wrap an arm around Arthur so that his back presses against Arthur's chest, both of them providing warmth to the other. 

More snores soon leave the younger's lips again and Micah finds the position to be perfect to rest in and he doesn't even notice that he in fact is getting sleepy as well. Everything slowly becomes black. 

^^^

It is Arthur's muffled moans that wake him up later that night. And he realises everything is wrong. Very wrong. When his eyes shoot open, his heart stops as he realises they are not alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing can get a bit messy and I don't know what I'm doing most of the times but I'm trying. 
> 
> Thanks for reading anyways, it's truly appreciated.


	2. Killing me, killing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tragic event brings Micah and his father closer to each other.

Micah jerks up but is shoved back to his bedroll just as quickly with a force that exceeds his own for a second. A cold gloved hand is pressed to his mouth and he stares with instant fire at the man that's inside their tent. Micah’s hands are still free and he frantically reaches for his revolver by his side. It's not there of course. 

"Thought it be wise to take that from you." This new voice, hoarse and almost wavering says. Belonging to the man practically straddling Arthur. He shows Micah his own gun only to press the muzzle to Arthur's head. "You weren't the best with the rifle, but that don't mean you're as worthless with this six shooter."

Micah looks at Arthur who is lying on his stomach with the stranger man looming over him. Arthur is very still but his eyebrows arch together tightly to express the same anger Micah is feeling. 

Micah doesn't even bother to speak, knowing the man wouldn't hear a word. He stares at the young man who seem to be in his mid-twenties. He looks unhealthy. He's got scruffy and matted hair of a flaming like color. His clothes are not suited for the sudden change of weather but he looks untouched by the cold, with not a single shiver leaving his body yet. 

Micah considers their options. The man is scrawny enough for Micah to be sure he could take him on now that he was prepared. What makes it impossible is the man holding a gun pointed at Arthur's head. Micah’s own revolver. 

"...come along…sit over here…and don't say a word, none of you."

Micah’s eyes automatically dart to the side as he hears more unknown voices coming from the direction of Amos' tent next to theirs. He can't help but scream out his brother's name into the hand. His call is muffled, turning much into the sound Arthur had made that had caused Micah to wake up in the first place. 

Micah does not get a response. 

"Sssccch… We mean you no harm. Especially not…" The stranger looks at Arthur by then. "...children. There's no need to panic," the red-haired man with Micah’s gun speaks calmly. He then stares at Micah for a long while with his ridiculously round eyes and his mouth slightly agape. He doesn't even blink the whole time and even Micah is unsettled by his still expression. With careful motions, the man moves his hand away from Arthur's head, brushing the muzzle of the gun across the kid's face before pulling back completely. He lifts his weight off of the kid, allowing Arthur to roll over to his back. Arthur grits his teeth as he uses his elbows to immediately drag himself away from the man now kneeling on his bedroll. 

The red haired presses the gun meaningfully to Micah’s head as he looks over at Arthur. " _You_ can speak. But don't scream," he warns the youngest. "I don't like when children scream."

"What do you _want?"_ Arthur spits out, sitting upright now and as far away as he possibly can from the stranger inside the small tent. 

"It's more about what we _need._ And we need plenty… A horse… so there's that… and food. We're a bit short on food…"

The man shows his teeth as he explains but it isn't exactly a smile. His lips are chapped, looking like they would tear into even deeper cracks with every word they form.

Micah is tempted to bite at the hand still covering his mouth but he restrains himself, given that the gun is still pointed at his face. 

"And warmer clothes…" the man adds almost apologetically. "We saw you had some fine pelts stowed on your horses."

"So you _followed_ us…?" Arthur asks incredulously. "It was you riding around here yesterday, wasn't it?" 

" _We_ didn't follow you," the man laughs out at Arthur's accusation. The man focuses his eyes down on Micah now. "No… we thought you was following _us_ ," he explains. "We stumbled upon _you_ and that other kid yesterday when you was hunting… seems like we was going after the same deer. We lost it for some time but then we heard that shot. We watched you with your… nice horses and all. Watched you for some time actually, you just didn't notice us."

"So you're just gonna steal from us now?" Arthur questions. In vain he discretely searches for his knife but realises it is far gone as well. 

"Mm… Frankly, you all don't look the lawful type to me neither. You've got lots of firearms… I bet money too. More than enough to know you're not decent folk… or am I wrong?"

Micah is _very_ tempted to bite now. 

" _Yeah_ , judging the looks on your faces, I bet you're probably used to _holding_ the gun, right?" the man whispers when none of the boys deny his suspicion. He looks at them both with a selfish kind of expectation. 

"Go to hell," Arthur says, his chest heaving rapidly from how badly he wants to punch this asshole's face. 

The red haired stranger releases a humored chuckle. "Heeey, kid. It's nothing personal… Really. I just don't like your… kind." 

"Our _kind?"_ Arthur asks with a chuckle of his own. "But you don't know anything about us. Besides, who's holding the gun now, huh? 'Cause it ain't us." 

The stranger decides not to give an answer to this, only a few clicks of his tongue. He glances over his shoulder, being reminded of the other souls in the moonlight camp as they hear a few whispers outside from his fellow men. 

He looks over at Arthur and Micah again. "Look. We won't hurt any of you. We just _need_ what you have. 'Cause unfortunately, winter struck us early and we're only trying to get by. That is all. I'm sure that's what _you_ would've said too." To the man, it all sounds so simple.

A few muffles leave Micah’s mouth. 

The man frowns by the sound as if he had forgotten all about him. He lifts his hand away from the oldest boy. 

"What was that, young man?" he asks Micah and aims the gun at Arthur again, causing the latter to glare at Micah to not do or say anything stupid. 

Micah gives a short look back at Arthur and the latter had never seen the older so serious. "I _said_ , I want to see my brother… Take whatever the hell you want from us but not until I've seen he's fine." 

The man's lips twitch into a small smile and freezes there for a few seconds too long. "Of course." He backs slowly out of the tent on his knees with the gun still pointed at Arthur’s direction. His other hand grabs the lantern that had been lighting up the tent. "Come come." He waves invitingly for Arthur to go first but he doesn't move out of the way from the opening of the tent as the boy follows. Arthur crawls uncomfortably past him. The kid is almost tempted to try and jump him as they briefly look into each other's eyes. 

A simple but easily understood "Hmm?" leaves the stranger's lips, challenging Arthur to actually try it. Arthur breaks eye contact and proceeds outside without pushing his luck. 

While letting Arthur head out without laying a hand on him, Micah is pulled up and away from his bedroll by force. "Hey!" Micah exclaims by the rough handling from the red-haired. "Take it easy…! God-damn!"

The stranger ignores him altogether and drags him out of the tent only to let go of him while they're outside, causing Micah to fall on his side right before the still glowing fire. 

Arthur grinds his teeth and moves very slowly, no longer relying on himself to make a risky move in this situation as much as he wanted to. Especially not when seeing that Old Micah and Amos are in the same position as he and Micah. 

There are an additional two men in total, both of them armed as well, with weapons that didn't belong to them. 

Unlike the first one, these two are wearing scarves to cover their faces, presumably more as protection from the cold than to hide their identities. 

Micah is noticeably upset by the view and pulls himself up to half sit, half lie, speaking to all of the perpetrators. "So what… you're gonna kill us in cold blood, is that it?" he chuckles out as he sees his father and brother's serious faces, sitting silently by the fire with their own weapons aimed at them. " _No_. No! The heeeell. Wiiiith. You." 

Micah laughs wildly as he thinks about how he, somehow, would take revenge in the best way - these bandits not at all aware of what they are dealing with. For him, dying didn't exist in his world. Somehow, they would find a way to make it out of this. They always did. 

Neither his father nor Amos say a word as the stranger man ignores Micah’s outburst and instead guides Arthur to his knees next to Micah. 

"You best be still now, 'cause the food we _have_ found… so now I'm gonna search the rest of your things. But you'll be nice, won't you?" the stranger tells them.

Old Micah keeps his head high with a careless smile all while the man plows through their pockets and satchels, finding all the money they have. He goes through their things, taking just about anything that's worth something. Pelts, all their ammunition and even the jewelry and various watches they had recently obtained. 

"Why are you taking that for?" Arthur questions when the stranger packs down a pair of brushes they use when tending to the horses. 

_"This?"_ the man asks, gesturing with one of the items. "I figured it came along with the horse," he says with a shrug of his shoulder. 

Now, Arthur stares directly at the other. He can feel his eyes tear up from not blinking once. 

Even Micah knows how much Bo means to Arthur. 

"I thought you said you'd only take the things you needed!" Arthur points out through gritted teeth, becoming harder for him to keep it together. 

"Well we don't _have_ one of these, kid. And our _horses_ _need_ brushing," the red haired answers. "You all got three of them. _Three._ You'll manage with _one_. _"_

A deep hate bubbles up inside of the child, all of it showing in his face. 

"Shit, kid. I wish you wouldn't give me that stare," the man says disliking. He sighs. "Look. We're leaving some food _and_ the bow behind. You'll _survive_. And all them money, hell, I bet my life it's stolen, so I'd say it ain't yours to begin with." 

Amos had kept his head lowered the whole time but he lowers it even further by the bandit's, or whatever he was, words. Despite them being straight up robbed, he couldn't help but think the man had a fair point. Like they were being robbed, had they robbed more people than he could count. 

He remembers taking money from that orphanage. How he and Micah had stolen everything of the little they had. And he had only been eleven then. Now he was fourteen and the list of their crimes had only gotten longer. 

Somehow, he believed they had it coming. 

As the man is finished gathering their so called necessities, he takes Bo by his reins and gestures for them all to finally leave. "Come now, we got what we needed. Let's not bother these folks any longer than necessary." 

A pair of dark and calm eyes fixate particularly at Micah and his father. "What about their coats? Looks pretty warm to me," one of the masked men asks, looking like a big guy underneath all those layer of clothes. His voice is deep and loud despite speaking rather low. 

The red-haired seems to consider it, looking their clothes over with a tempted expression on his face. He looks amused almost, dragging out on the moment far longer than necessary. "Naaah," he eventually decides. "Don't be absurd… We've got the pelts and I bet the women can make something out of them."

"That's right… let's just leave them alone," the other masked man answers, sounding somewhat nervous as old Micah had been staring at him for a long while without a single blink of his eyes. "We got what we need, right?"

Old Micah’s face is still unbothered by the event and his subtle smile still lingers over his lips as he observes the three men, making sure to remember everything about them. Even the color of their eyes. 

Micah can't stand being dominated like this and just as the three men are about to mount their two horses and Bo, he calls out to them. "You don't think we'll find you?" 

"Still yourself, boy…!" his father hisses to him through half closed lips but Micah doesn't listen. 

Unlike his companions already on their horses, the red-haired, no doubt the leader, stops in the middle of his movement with his leg still lifted and his boot placed in the stirrup of his saddle. 

" 'Cause we _will,"_ Micah continues, speaking directly to him now. "Oh-ho-ho _you'll_ regret this. Mark. My. Word. I'll kill the lot of you, you rotten _pieces of shits_."

" _Boy!_ " his father hisses to him again but Micah doesn't even glance in his direction. 

"Stop it…!" Amos joins in at the same time, staring wide-eyed at his big brother. 

Arthur observes the three riders with a lowered head and a few tests of hair covering his eyes. As much as he would like to yell out worse things than Micah, he hopes that they would just ignore him. 

Neither of the men answer at first, all of them seem eager to just leave, the masked men already turning on their spots with the horses - one of those horses being Bo. The biggest of them whispers something to his leader and the latter proceeds with mounting his horse, a displeased look hanging over his face. "Now why did you have to go and say something like that?" he asks Micah across the small camp with a sarcastically sad voice. "Now you've got me all worried."

"That's becaaaause you're yelloooow, all of you…" Micah explains calmly with an attempt to taunt them. 

"Micah. Shut up…" Arthur whispers without an expression on his face, thinking about wrestling him down on the spot. He can feel the tension become more strained as the scrawny man drums Micah’s gun over his thigh where his hand rests.

"...I might have to buy some time, then, don't I...?" 

"The hell you mean?" Micah questions, sounding more than impatient with this stranger by now. 

"You know… You speak big words for being so young," the man smiles. "Almost a kid still." 

"Are you blind? I'm _not_ a goddamn kid." 

"Well good then, 'cause I would never hurt a child." 

"What do yo-" 

Arthur barely has the time to react and Micah only registers the man aiming anew before he feels a shockwave at his whole side and stomach. He all but flies backwards and lands on his back. He never feels any pain in those seconds. 

"That should buy me some time, shouldn't it!" 

"The hell you do that for??" 

The two sentences are yelled out almost at the same time from the leader and the second companion. 

" 'Cause he won't get to talk to me that way, that's why!" 

" _Goddammit…_ Let's get the hell out of here!" 

Old Micah scrambles to his son's side and Micah can hear Amos shout his name before he hears the riders leave in the distance. 

Micah grimaces when the pain finally arrives. He growls out with his mouth closed, biting hard on his teeth and breathing rapidly through his nostrils. 

"Don't move," his father orders so calmly that Micah does exactly what he's told for once. He can feel cold air flush over his body as the man opens and lifts up every garment he's wearing to examine him. He puts something under him that presses against the painful area. 

Amos is frozen to his spot and stares at them blankly, not comprehending what had just happened. 

"He shot me with my own damn gun," Micah pants with a brief laugh, trying to get a good look at the entry wound but is firmly pushed back by his father, only able to get a small glimpse of all the blood. 

"Yes I _know_." 

"He actually did-" 

"Just look at the goddamn stars, Micah. Alright? And try to breathe slowly." The blonde takes his own scarf and yanks off Arthur's as well to use. He guides Arthur to help him and Micah can feel a pressure against the pained area and despite not being so easily frightened anymore, he can clearly feel the panic grow inside of him. His stomach turns. Again, he does what his father tells him and focuses on the star-filled sky above. 

"Ame… _Amos!"_ the blonde man calls with a hard voice, forcing the youngest kid out of his shock. 

Amos blinks a few times before he, with wobbly legs, hurries over to their side, instantly grabbing Micah’s hand in his. Micah can feel the kid shaking and he presses back and gives a faint smile to his brother. 

"I'm gonna kill them… I _will_ , Micah. I promis-" Amos can't finish his sentence as he sees the strains of blood running under Arthur's hands that provide pressure on Micah’s wound. 

Their father goes through whatever they have left and curses internally as he realises the bandits have taken all of their medicinal supplies as well, including the simple needle and thread. 

Amos is pulled away by the man from Micah so that the man can whisper to the youngest of his sons. Micah is about to ask them what's going on when Arthur speaks quietly to him. "It's… okay Micah. You're gon' be _just_ fine so don't you worry 'bout it." The kid gives a broad and reassuring smile. One that Micah had never seen before. 

Arthur cocks his head down at his hands pressing at Micah’s side. "This alright?" he asks. 

Micah gives a nod to the kid and Arthur's hands press slightly harder against him as reply. "It hurts like hell," Micah tells him. 

"Would you prefer if I lift my hands away?" 

Micah’s eyes shoot back at Arthur in an instant. 

"Was only joking…" Arthur exhales and gives another brief smile, trying to cover up how trembling his voice is, as well as his hands. "...so take it easy." 

Micah gives a small chuckle to that and it suddenly feels like there's so much going on but at the same time that nothing is happening. 

Suddenly, Amos takes Ema and rides off in a dangerous speed through the forest. Micah hadn't even noticed when his brother had put the saddle on her. 

"He's gonna get help. He'll be back," the blonde answers before Micah has the opportunity to ask him about it. The man then whispers into Arthur's ear but Micah can only hear fragments. Arthur looks at Micah the whole time. Nodding once, twice and a third time in an eternity. 

Old Micah takes off his warm coat and lay it over his oldest son before lowering himself to the cold ground again. 

Then he and Arthur switch places, pressure gone, pressure back. 

Arthur is about to go to the horses but makes sure to throw some firewood in the fire before. He didn't know when he would be back. 

"Take Tido," the man orders the boy. 

Arthur gives a chaste nod to it, eager to do his part and determined to not waste a second. 

He isn't very familiar with riding Tido on his own but fortunately, the horse seems to accept him nonetheless. Most probably a result of Arthur's respectful nature towards animals but mostly his tending to her over the years whenever Micah was wandering off on them. "You with me girl?" he speaks to the horse as he turns her around, ready to spur her into motion. 

"Arthur," the blonde man calls before the boy has a chance to do so.

Tido neighs as Arthur pulls the reins in an instant to halt. "Yes, sir?" 

The blonde is quiet at first and he can see how awake and alert Arthur's blue eyes are by then, the pair of them showing just how much at service he wanted to be to him. Without question, without hesitation. 

Staring back at him with what could be interpreted as an admirable expression on his face amidst their chaos, it's enough for Arthur to take the man's next few words very seriously. "There's four of us… make sure it remains that way… You understand?" 

Arthur swallows at the request. "Yes. I will." In the back of his head, he thinks about how Amos had the same responsibility but with far more odds against him. Arthur remains silent as he glances down at Micah to where he lies shot down on the cold ground. He suddenly finds a new strength flowing through his body by the sight and he doesn't think twice as he ushers Tido to speed. 

"Why is he taking Tido, pa? He can't-" Micah twists his head after a disappearing Arthur, struggling with keeping up in what is happening around him. "It's _ma's_ horse, pa! I don't- don't want him taking her!" he close to yells with stress in his voice. "Where's he going?!" 

The man lowers his gaze as he hears Micah mention his mother. It had been a long time since he had heard the word from his oldest. "Don't mind that, you," he reassures in a calming manner. "He'll be back too. And he'll be back _with_ Tido." He too watches as Arthur rides off but in a completely other direction than Amos. "Breathe."

Micah does and he lies very still but not longer because he is told to but because he suddenly feels too weak to do anything else. He feels too exhausted to even speak. "You were right…" He says it absently, remembering the words that had come true. _One day, you'll say the wrong things to the wrong men… And they won't be so kind as I am._ Something his father had warned him once when Micah had said the wrong thing to _him_. 

"Hm?"

Micah swallows. "It was… Nothing… Forget it… aaargh-" He grunts in agony. "This is bullshit." 

The man sighs heavily from where he sits on his knees next to Micah, hands keeping a steady pressure against the wound. "For now, you'll just have to talk to me, alright? Keep your eyes open." 

His father has an ability to keep himself inhumanly composed. His face, even now, hard as rocks. Not a single expression on it. Even though the lack of worry from the man is another reminder of how hateful Micah has become of his father, he can't deny that the man's calm is a comfort in itself. It spreads to him and without it, Micah is sure this experience would've been a hundred times worse. He is in pain but it is starting to numb. Much like all the pain by the hands of his father, he had become somewhat resilient to the effect on his body. This is a whole new kind of torment though. 

"What on earth do y-you _and I_ have to talk about?" Micah questions, thinking it isn't the time for the two of them to bond. They are beyond that. 

His father ignores his son's tone, most likely because of the dire situation and nothing else. "We can talk about whatever you want, Micah." He says it slowly, as if he realises he regrets his own offer at the same time. 

Micah looks up at the man with scepticism, puzzling it together. Not able to know if the man is serious or not. " _What?"_ He almost yells it out. "What, you think I'm gonna _die?"_ He huffs, taking offense. "That it would be my last _dying wish?_ To talk about whatever the hell I want with _you?_ " He laughs weakly. 

To Micah’s surprise, the man's left eye actually twitches to that, showing he must have hit some nerve. The man inhales deeply and shakes his head to Micah’s words. "You ain't… ain't gonna die. You're shot in the side, nothing else. You're bleeding, but your body is alright."

"Oh yeah? How can you be so sure?" Micah snarls out. He trusts his father's words but he feels like he can't restrain what's inside. Perhaps it's because of his condition, feeling the possibility of getting away with anything right now. What could the man do about it? Let him bleed out? Micah briefly thinks that he has no doubt that his father would, in fact, be capable of doing so. 

"Because of the war," the man simply answers. "I've seen wounds like these many times."

"Yes. Of _course_. The war that you… that you never talk to me about or what you did there." Micah looks away from him to stare up at the stars again. He doesn't want to see the man right now, feeling the contempt for him only increasing by his own reminder of how little they actually knew each other. "Like all the rest of it…" 

His father isn't slow to notice his son's bitterness. Bitterness that is about to turn uglier when bleeding on the ground. Micah wouldn't think twice about spilling it all out. The hate that he knew was inside of his own son. Everything collected and stored inside of him all these years. 

Unless. 

Unless he bargained with him. 

"How aboooout… I tell you something _now?"_ Old Micah says, again telling him they could speak about whatever they wanted - whatever _Micah_ wanted. Of course, he despised the idea of his own suggestion. In the back of his head, he doesn't know if he does it because his son deserves it or because he's in fact afraid that Micah might not make it through the night. What he _does_ know, is that Micah needed to stay awake. 

Micah is still unsure if the man is true to his words or not. "You're actually serious." 

"I am."

In all the turmoil, this was the last thing that Micah could possibly expect from the other man. Feeling expectant, he also feels a massive frustration at how aware his father is of this - treating personal information as some sort of reward for his own son. And Micah couldn't even deny it. His eyes turn to narrow slits in disbelief, deciding to finally try him out. "How many did you kill in the war?" 

His father raises a brow. He had once told Micah he didn't know how many people he had killed in his _life_. "I didn't keep count then either." 

"Give or take." 

Micah notices his father has to force it out. "Anything from twenty." 

"Mean bastard."

Although it isn't meant as an insult, Micah would've earned a slap by that comment on a different day, he is sure of it. Now, when lying here shot… He finds the situation perfect to his advantage and focusing on things he wanted to ask is a good way to distract himself from the excruciating and consistent pain. He grunts as soon as he thinks about it and shuts his eyes for a second when it becomes overwhelming. He finds it ironic that when he finally had the chance to know more of his father, he couldn't come up with a good question to begin with. "Are you fucking sure about _this?_ It burns like goddamn hellfire." Micah nods down to the wound and questions him again, a slight panic taking over once more. 

His father's breaths look like smoke in the cold air as he stares down at the figure that feels so small in that moment. The blonde man lets go of his own restraints eventually, deciding to speak freely and without holding back when his son questions him. "You might have figured this one out already but… I wasn't the most honorable of the bunch back then but I did my part during the war, both good and bad or what you may call it. By no means am I an educated man but even so… during a few months, I had to assist the only doctor left after the other medics had gon' and gotten themselves killed. I learned the basics. Saved some folks… Killed even more though… so I would know the difference between life and death… So the next time, you'll ask me how I can be so _fucking_ sure, bear that in mind." He cocks his head down at Micah’s wound. "Safe to say… you're gonna be fine." The uncertainty in his own statement is impossible for Micah to pick up on. And the one and only reason for it is the man's ability to tell lies just as naturally as the truth, despite his dislike for the former - at least within their group. And why he is lying is because Micah needs to keep up his spirit. _Believing_ he would survive is just as important as doing it. 

"Huh," is Micah’s simple response to learning where his father had obtained his medicinal knowledge. If Micah had doubts before, he doesn't now. He grunts again. 

He hurries to say anything else, feeling like the longer he stays quiet, the more of his condition he could feel. "You've seen other wounds than these?" He is close to slurring by now, feeling very weak inside.

"One time, yeah." 

"What else?" 

"My friend had been cut by a damn sword in battle and uhm... His arm was alright at first. Then it started to rot and I had to... saw it off. We needed four men just to hold him down." The man chuckles lightly by the mention of his friend and it sounds so genuine that Micah can't help but drift his eyes back to him only to see him in that state. 

Had it been years ago, perhaps Micah had felt a warm feeling inside by the sight of his father sharing something personal with him. Now, all he can feel is how cold he is starting to become and he can't tell if it's from his loss of blood or the sight of his father sitting in the winter air in only a torn shirt and vest on his upper body. "A _friend?_ Did he survive?" 

"He's alive somewhere as far as I know."

Micah frowns. "You...you don't know where he is?" 

"He's right where I want him to be. Far away from me. From us." 

"Did he do something bad to you?" 

"Not exactly."

Micah feels like his father's answers only bring out more questions and with his increasing tiredness he has to prioritize between curiosity and the _need_ for answers. 

"I've got another question."

"Yeah...sure." The man sighs the heaviest sigh Micah’s ever heard, as if their conversation took the last energy out of him. 

"Is… grandpa alive?" 

His father's eyes instantly meet his and Micah can clearly see how unprepared the man is by the straightforward question. Speaking about Micah Bell Sr. isn't something they did in this family but all Micah knows is that they weren't at best on terms with each other. Only occasionally, if the man was drinking, did he mention him. Micah himself had only one vague memory of the oldest old man - his father yelling at the other to get the hell away from his land and don't ever come back. 

Micah doesn't break eye contact with his father, not even when the man's state of mind seems to transform into the most horrible part of him. The ones where he lost his mind, becoming a monster. Or that's how Micah had always experienced it since he was a child. Right now, a transformation as such never happens and Micah doesn't know if his lifelong and clear image of the man had been distorted all along or if a new, better, change is taking form within his father. 

"I don't know," the man answers truthfully. "Although… I've got a strong feeling he is. He's too goddamn stubborn to die." 

"Why do you hate him so much, sir?" 

"I don't-" 

"You tried to kill him once. You said so one time when I was a kid…" 

"I hit him with a frying pan once because he was hurting my ma, I must've been about Amos' age or so. He passed out and bled all over the floor and I had to clean it all up after. I wanted to kill him but he _didn't_ _die_. But I don't hate him. No."

Micah can't help but laugh faintly to it despite the tragic circumstance. "Where did he go? And why aren't you-" 

"I wasn't alright after the war. I lost my ways. His way and mine didn't work. I haven't seen him since so I don't know where he is."

Micah has a hard time keeping up with every new information that is shared with him. Things that he had been wondering about for years. Things he knew fragments of and had tried to make sense of. With Amos being too young to remember their past, he had often found himself alone with doing all the puzzling. Amidst it all, he suddenly feels like he's drifting away. 

It doesn't go unnoticed by the other. "Don't fall asleep on me now, you hear?" his father continues with the same clear voice Micah had learned to love and hate over the years. He realises he loves it deeply in this moment, despite how much he hated _him_. 

"No… I won't…" Micah doesn't know why but he lifts his hand slightly, searching for anything. A touch. He drifts his hand underneath the big coat that the man had made himself by the various pelts they had collected from their hunting trips. It isn't pretty on the eyes but it does what it's meant for, as most things did in their life. Micah breathes a little faster as he feels at his side and how slick his exposed skin is by all the warm blood that had escaped him. Everything becomes very real by then and he fears that his father is mistaken after all. What if he _will_ die tonight? 

He continues up and rests his hand atop his father's both. The ones preventing his life from escaping him in this very moment. 

"Answer me this…" He squeezes at his father's hand with the little strength he can manage. He has to know before he doesn't have the capability to ask. 

Speaking of his mother is taboo and he knows it. He hadn't mentioned her in years, knowing all too well how his father's reaction always was. The belt or the fist. 

"Why did you have to kill her?" Micah dares to ask for the first time in his life and he can almost feel the man become tempted to let go with his hands and let him die. 

Somehow, the courage of asking directly has more to do with how vulnerable the man is seeming to be and less to do with the fact that Micah is fearing for his life and trying to make his last moments count. 

" 'Cause we never talked about her, not even once… And Amos doesn't even know about it… he thinks she died of sickness because I tell him so…" Micah’s voice never cracks despite how close he is to it. "A liar I am… " 

Micah Bell Jr. swallows and his eyelids flicker for a moment. Seeing his son. His first born, slowly bleeding out on the cold ground is killing him inside as well as the mention of her. This time, he doesn't have it in him to deny his son anything. 

Micah is sure that his father could kill him on the spot, his face still dangerously unreadable except from a few changes in his eyes. It's impossible to know what is going on inside his head. 

"Annie wasn't well. In her mind," the man answers slightly slower than before, as if he has to use all his willpower to even utter her name. 

Micah closes his eyes, not even noticing his eyes had become tear-filled. 

"She uh… She wasn't herself the last few years. It became even worse after she birthed Amos..."

Micah didn't even bother to open his wet eyes again. He had been needing this for so long that now when he finally had it, every former desire of it disappeared. He almost didn't want to hear it anymore. Hearing his father saying her name feels enough, somehow. Just to let Micah know that she, in fact, had been a part of them. 

"You remember what she did to you? To your brother?" 

"Some of it…not all…I remember I was always hungry when you wasn't around… and I remember the water..." 

His father grunts and looks away from his son, feeling close to dead inside, having it confirmed that Micah remembered as much. "I wasn't right myself back then but I knew it had gone too far. That's why I did it..."

There is no regret or sorrow in his father's unwavering voice. 

"Tell me-" Micah struggles with keeping the tears from escaping him and he tries to swallow the heaviest lump yet. It causes his voice to finally falter. "Tell me about yourself… And her…how you met. How it was like before we left our home…" Micah asks of him with his eyes still shut. "I want to hear everything…" 

"Alright… I uh… I met her-" 

Old Micah doesn't know where to start, had never spoken to anyone about this but himself in his head. And while hearing his son's fragile voice, he has to clear his throat in order to not speak with the same. 

"I met her the first year of the war. She was the only child to a simple farmer and her mother had passed when she was only a babe. Taken her own life, she had… Well. They lived close to one of the battlefields and I, young and naive as I was, deserted... You see, I was never interested in fighting for this country. I was a simple no-good thrown in jail for robbing a bank together with my friend."

"The one-armed?" 

"Yeah, the same one. 'Cept he had two arms back then," he adds, joking dryly. 

Micah opens his eyes slightly, observing his father through exhausted eyes. Relishing in knowing there had been good times as well. He closes them again, the eyelids becoming heavier by the second. 

"So. They considered our crime not serious enough to waste two good soldiers to. So that's what we became… soldiers. But one night, we saw an opportunity to leave and we took it. We ended up at her farm and she helped us hide for a few days, kind soul as she was… Unfortunately, her father found out about it and threatened to tell us of our location to both the Sheriff and the army unless we returned willingly. So we did. We were punished of course… but lucky enough, they decided not to shoot us on the spot… I still snuck out of there sometimes for the next few weeks, just to see her… We wrote each other letters as the battlefield moved back and forth and… and we ended up further and further away from one another and letters ended up nowhere at all, it seemed… And the punishment for deserting became more a fear than an opportunity. Was in winter of '62 that I snuck out of there for the last time, having thrown away two years of my life to this country. I was posted at a prison camp of war when we were attacked by the other side… and let's just say I wasn't a favorable character to the captured enemies we held there. Can't say I treated them righteously… so I would probably be the first one they would come after if let out. When I realised we were gone for, I took all my belongings and left. Don't know how long I had to run before I could stop, but the whole night at least. I managed to get to her in five days, not sure where else I could go. Turns out her father had passed and she had been on her own for little more than a year. I never received any of the letters she had wrote… so you can imagine my surprise as I saw she hadn't been completely by herself. There was… Well - _you…_ You was almost two years by then. And she told me you had been born far too early… but you was a survivor... Same as now." 

Micah Bell Jr. remembers how different she had been. Annie. Not at all the same girl he had been forced to leave behind. She had said she hadn't been feeling alright for years, that she was losing herself. Too many things had happened during their separation. A pregnancy and childbirth without a man to wed, her father's death, taking care of a small babe by herself without knowing if the child's father was still alive or not. She had only been eighteen years old when he came back to her. And he had said that it would be alright now that they were together again. It never became alright.

"We had Amos a year after that… and it was a small farm and it was… tolerable ...but I realised it wasn't the life I had in mind. Another life wanted me and another followed me and I felt drawn between the three of them… I lived them all at the same time and I don't know where my mind ended up..."

He blinks to the memory, shaking his head almost violently to the lives he had lived. He loses himself for a second as he remembers them all - the farm together with his family, the criminal life with his father's gang and the uncountable and horrible acts he had committed during the war. Like many other times, he focuses fully on who he is now in this moment and pulls it together. The blonde man lowers his head, starting to become seriously affected by the freezing night. By pure willpower, he shuts it all out before he focuses again on what he was sharing with his son, this time sounding far more somber. His son wanted to hear everything and he would give him that. 

"I had been gone for a day or two and when I got back, she… she was holding Amos down in the horses' watering through and you was too scared of her to do anything about it… It wasn't your fault... I never should have… should have left you by yourself with her…"

Old Micah furrows his brows to himself as if he is deep in thought, searching for a specific memory. He doesn't need to search for long because he would never forget what she had said. 

"She told me she was gonna do it _quick_. Like _I_ did all the time with the pups and kittens. 'Like all the children… unwanted.' That's what she said to me and by then, I knew… I _knew_ she had to die. I knew… as well as she knew. So she tried to kill me _first_. Took my knife, she did…"

There is no effort in trying to make it into something it wasn't from his part. The scar on his neck becomes a wound again in his memory and he can almost feel that betraying slice by her hand again. See all that blood again, dripping down on her face as he strangled her to death. 

"Yeah… I killed her. With my bare hands, I did… Because it had to be done."

He absently nods to his own words, his eyes having drifted away from Micah and into the darkness of the forest a long while ago. 

"After that…we couldn't stay there… I would've gotten the noose. So we needed to move… to survive and-"

During his retelling of past events of their family member, he hadn't noticed that Micah’s hand had gone limp, sliding away from his. 

"...Micah?" 

There is no response. 

"Micah... Wake up!" he orders with a hard voice. By reaching up with his knee, he shakes at Micah’s shoulder but the kid doesn't react. "Micah…! Micah! Micah!" He yells and yells to his son in vain. The kid is pale but at least he's still breathing. 

The blonde man can feel his heart pump faster inside his chest and his stomach turn as he stares into the direction his youngest had taken off. By pure strength of his will, he closes his eyes and awaits Amos' return in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot for reading this update.


	3. Five-layered mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding themselves in a dilemma, Old Micah is forced to separate their small group.

_"You'll have to ride, Arthur… Follow their tracks but do NOT get too close. Find out where their camp is, count how many the bastards are and keep an eye on their guns. Come back here when you've got an answer to every little thing I just told you."_

That is what the blonde man had whispered to him as they were busy stopping Micah’s bleeding. And successfully, Arthur had done exactly what he had been told. 

Keeping his distance the whole night, the bandits were still unaware of his presence. Having lost them a couple of times, Arthur had refused to give up despite how challenging it had been to track in the dark. 

Just as he had been certain he had lost them altogether, the tracks could be found again and loud voices, merry and close to cheering, had become more distinct. Arthur had dismounted Tido in order to tread carefully the last bit. Moving upwards and to the top of a hill, he could see the tracks continue on the other side. 

Hunkering down and finding himself with a good view, he remains hidden as he overlooks their camp located in a small valley at the end of the steep slope. There is a fairly big house and two belonging structures standing sturdy next to it. Perhaps built by venturing pioneers in another lifetime. 

They had stuck a couple of torches in the ground around their camp and they were burning stillful in the cold night apart from the big campfire in the center. 

He could hear them laughing. Laughing at them and what they had obtained from them. Within a few seconds he manages to make out that their group consists of more than three - an additional two of them sitting with their returning men despite the late hour. Both of them looks scrawny and smaller in size and Arthur suspects them to be Micah’s age but he couldn't get a good enough look from his position, especially not when both of them had scarves up to their noses. 

They are gathered around the campfire and pass a bottle around them. By the looks of things, they had just finished feasting on the deer Micah and Amos had hunted the day before, cooked and packed in several portions to preserve it. 

The leader of the group chuckles along his words. "The rest of you should've… should've seen how he damn near flew off in the air with this…" he tells the rest of his companions when he shows off the stolen revolver from Micah and then admiring the guns obtained from Micah’s father. "But these… I tell ya, they oughta be able to take down a damn bear. Now...we don't need to fear no man no more… And anyone stupid enough to take us on will have to answer to these." He shows the guns particularly to the two scrawny companions.

"Yeah, real brave move of you, shooting a kid like that, Willie," one of the men comments with a grain of dislike. 

One of the unnamed young men crosses his arms and stares at his leader, looking like he agreed with his friend. 

Willie snorts nonchalantly, picking up on the gestures from both his companions. He turns to the first. "Easy now, Lonnie, I'm… I'm _sure_ that _polite_ young man will be _just_ fine…" 

"What if he's _not?"_ the man called Lonnie continues. "They might try and look for us. His old man didn't look so-" 

"Ain't _nobody_ gonna find us out here with the snow falling thicker." Willie talks over the other. 

"Still. He was just a damn kid acting up, Willie. His father on the other hand-" 

"No!" Willie exclaims with big eyes. "He was _not_ just _…_ _acting up_." He lifts Micah’s gun as to display it to his men once more. "This here, is a weapon made to kill men and to kill them gruesomely… nothing else. How many kids do you think walk around with one of these, hmm?" 

Willie waits for any of his four men to give him a good answer, moving his head accordingly. He slowly lifts one of Old Micah’s guns instead. 

"Few _men_ that I've met have, not one, but _two_ guns of this kind on him. So you see. _That_ \- that were _no_ ordinary family. _No_. So saying that he was just a kid acting up… I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Lonnie repeats as if to make sure he had heard the other correctly. 

"No, I don't. No - I _know_ so." Willie changes his statement with a nod. "He needed a warning and I gave one to him." 

"Shooting the _father_ … now that would've been the wise move," Lonnie answers quietly his leader's confident words. He waves a meaningful finger at him. "And what you _should have_ done. There was something about him-"

"The _father? Shit_ , he was so pliant he'd probably drink my piss if I asked him," the big guy with the deep voice answers. "Some men do just about anything when they're on the other end of the gun." 

Willie gives a sly laugh to that. "Ain't that right." 

Happy he seems and Arthur fights the urge to sneak down there and get a hold of a gun to eradicate their spiteful faces. Not only were their leader laughing about shooting Micah, but the other man was making fun of the blonde man and it ticked Arthur off immensely. 

Apparently, Arthur isn't the only one affected by it. The young one who has his arms crossed suddenly shoots up on his feet. Seeming unimpressed by their conversation, he turns on his heels and heads for the house with determined steps. 

"Hey, hey, hey! Where you goin'? You ain't happy to see us all back in one piece, huh?" Willie calls after him, a slight disappointment in his voice. 

The unnamed one merely snorts to that, as if whatever Willie said wouldn't have a chance to change his mind. 

Willie's arms reach out and turns slack in confusion as he wonders what he had said wrong to his fellow man. 

The others' gazes follow after the young one as he slams the door to a loud shut. 

"Shit… you better watch that damn temper of yours, you hear!" Willie yells after him and rubs the bridge of his nose a few times with his fingers. 

The rest of them ignore the one sided dispute as if they were used to it, the leader cursing several times under his breath. 

"What were you saying 'bout the father, Lon?" the big guy asks calmly a couple of moments later when the silence becomes too drawn out. 

Lonnie takes a breath, speaking a lot quieter now. "Something about that _stare_ of his. Like, like, he could've killed us then and there if he'd wanted to. I don't know… he smelled like danger to me. It had been better to… to warn _him_ , not the kid." 

The other three men remain silent by Lonnie's worry as the man takes a big swig from the bottle and passes it to the man next to him with his eyes wide open in paranoia. 

When Willie burst out in laughter from it, the big guy next to him joins in. The other unnamed one noticeably relaxes by his fellow men. 

Lonnie darts his eyes between them all. 

"Alright, alright… You all laugh at me now!" Lonnie talks over the thick sound of mocking laughter with a loud voice. "But I'm telling you, that man _smelled of_ danger and all of you should know what I'm talking about!" He stumbles up on his feet, frustrated that no one is taking him seriously. 

"Well they _did_ walk around with 800 dollars something in their dirty pockets… Them outlaws all wear the same face, trying to look tougher than they are," the big guy waves off. "You're getting yourself all riled up, Lonnie. Best take another sip of that bottle to calm your nerves." 

"He might be a wanted man for all we know. Perhaps you saw his face on one of them posters," the unnamed man in camp suggests, having a high pitched and hoarse voice - almost like an adolescent boy. 

"Shit. I don't know…!" Lonnie takes off his hat and combs his hand through his thick and wavy black hair that hadn't seen a wash for weeks or even months. "I wished we hadn't robbed those folks. Even them kids was armed… and that boy said he'd kill us all. What if they find us, huh? What if he-" 

"Shut the hell up, Lonnie!" Willie suddenly bursts out with a patience that had run out, shooting up on his feet to stand tall. "You scared of some kid, huh?"

"They weren't no, no ordinary family. You said so yourself. You did." 

"Of _course_ they weren't! They were thieving sons of bitches, _all_ of 'em… But we took their money, we took their guns. They don't got _nothing_ on us… It's just a man and his three boys now… No reason to be scared." Willie raises the bottle to his lips by his statement. 

Lonnie stares at him for a while from where he's standing opposite him by the fire. "My head's spinning," he tells incoherently. 

Willie slowly lowers himself to sit again. "It's all them thoughts playing tricks on you," he answers and shoves the bottle to the companion next to him. 

The big guy accepts the bottle and gestures with the hand that holds it at Lonnie. "Get your ass in bed and sleep it off."

Lonnie seems out of breath from the mix of alcohol and the irrational fear. He nods a few jerking times and follows his friend's advice. "Yeah, sure… that might be just what I need…" He drags his feet after him and heads for the house. 

"Tomorrow, I expect you to get your act together!" the big guy then yells after him but Lonnie only slams the door after him as reply, much like his companion before him. 

"He can't hold his booze for shit." The big guy shakes his head to his words, showing his disapproval for Lonnie. "Spineless coward." 

"Not all are so big and tough as you are, Otis," Willie reminds him with a glint in his eye. "He's been… Well, _we_ all been through a lot." The earlier smug face on Willie disappears by then and another more serious side shows itself for a moment. 

The big guy Otis merely grunts and takes a swig of his own on the bottle. He slows down when they can hear the haunting howls of wolves in the distance. 

Without a word, the three men gather the weapons and pelts and head inside as well. 

Arthur breath hitches and he throws his head around to make out which direction the beasts are located. It sounds far away for now, but he doesn't feel safe without a single weapon on him. 

He shoots his head towards their camp again. "Five ...there _must_ be five of 'em," he mumbles to himself. 

Another howl echoes in the distance. 

^^^

He is instantly questioned when he comes to. 

"Is your name Micah Bell?"

Micah swallows with too little saliva inside his mouth. "Ye...yes…I am." 

"How old are you, Micah?" 

"Seventeen…" 

"What year is it?" 

"1877."

"Mm. Very good." 

Micah slowly blinks his eyes open. When he sees an old man kneeling by his feet, it's like he is watching with someone else's eyes - feeling his mind not quite present yet. The voice is a stranger's voice, new and unknown, just like his face. He feels a rough pat on his boot and he realises he's back in his tent as he stares up. The old man all but drags himself out of there with a few heavy grunts. 

"It's a good thing you found me when you did... Being strong don't always mean you're lucky… In this case though, your son seems to be both." 

It takes a second for Micah to understand that the other is talking _about_ him and not _to_ him anymore as the voice gradually turns lower with the old man moving further away from the tent. He almost pants between every word, as if he has a hard time getting enough air in his lungs. "He'll be alright. For now. You need to keep the wound clean and dry." He proceeds with telling them of the treatment and how much money he wanted for 'riding out in the middle of nowhere.'

"I've got no money to pay you," answers another voice very straightforwardly. "They took everything from us, 'cept the clothes on our bodies and these horses." His father's voice. "It's all we have." 

A deep and tired sigh is the stranger's reply, riddled with disbelief. " _Who_ did?" 

"Bunch of bandits. Same one that shot him."

"Haven't heard of no bandits around these parts." 

"You take me for a liar?"

"My pa is telling the truth, sir. Stole from us, they did. There was three of them," Amos assures, his voice sounding even further away. 

"You should have it reported at the Sheriff's office, then."

A sarcastic chuckle leaves his father. 

"What's so funny?" the old man asks immediately. "Something wrong with the law?" 

"Oh nothing… But yes… Yes, you're right. I _should_ have it reported. I'll do it first thing in the morning." 

"It is morning."

"By noon then."

"You _should_ know that the Sheriff's a busy feller, the earlier, the better your chances are for him to get on with it." 

"Thought you said there weren't any bandits around these parts." 

"I did." 

"Then how come the Sheriff's so busy?" 

Another tired sigh, even deeper than the first, leaves the old man. 

Micah remains silent and listens to their conversation, having closed his eyes again from the bright light outside and having no protection from it inside the open wedge tent. He winces at the pounding pain in his side and all of yesterday's events make themselves remembered by then. 

"Look… If you're planning on taking the law in your own hands, I advice you not to. You end up in jail or you end up dead." 

"I don't see the difference." 

"The law exists so that we can respect it. The Sheriff exists to _maintain_ that respect. Let him and his deputies take care of these… these desperados you claim to have seen."

" ' _Claim to have seen?'_ I didn't only _see_ them, they paid us a visit and damn near killed _him!_ Who do you _think_ shot him?" There's an intensity in the blonde's voice. None which quite reach his still face.

The old man lifts his hands up as to calm the situation down.

"If I let the Sheriff take care of it, you can't expect me to make money appear out of thin air, old man. You know as well as I do, that fellers breaking the law have a tendency of not getting caught." The blonde spits his words out, not concealing his dislike for the other man anymore. 

The old man notices, deciding to speak freely as well. "If I was you, I would find a way to earn some _honest_ money then, like the rest of us. So you can pay me. You think I ride out in the middle of the night to provide my services because I find enjoyment in it? At my age? For free? Then you thought wrong, young man." 

"No, I can't imagine it but I never did say that to be the case. Doctor." 

"All right, all right. Didn't mean nothing by it. Just…this is my living and I need food on the table as much as you and your two boys."

"I don't have anything to give you. Not at this moment at least. So how do you reckon we handle this dilemma?" 

Micah can feel the tension between the two grown men just from their exchange of polite phrases in underlying suspicion. The old man is wary of the blonde man, doubting what he is. Well, he _should_ be wary, being this far out without a human being in sight to help him if the blonde turns out to be exactly what the old man thinks he is. Micah is surprised that his father hadn't killed the other with his bare hands yet, the old man being both a problem and liability to them by now. 

"How about this, I'll be nice to you, given the circumstances as they are… I'll offer you a credit for now but I expect a payment when you're back on your feet, preferably within a week. I'll make sure to remember your name. You _understand?"_

Micah doesn't even have to see it to know that his father is giving a full grin, his finger probably itching to draw a gun or two in which he does not possess at the moment. "Of course, doc. Of course… that's _mighty_ kind of ya."

"Good. Very good indeed," the old man mumbles to himself, sounding pleased. "You think you'll remember the way to town, kiddo?" 

"Yeah, it's that a-way. I'm not one to lose my direction, sir," Amos answers. Micah can imagine the reassuring and quick nods that his brother gives just so he wouldn't be doubted, probably pointing a finger too in the right direction. 

"You don't have to call him sir, Amos," the blonde tells his youngest without tearing his eyes away from the old man. 

The old man shakes his head and with a distinct limp in his leg, he walks over to his horse. He barely manages to get up on the beast that looks just as ancient as he does. "Okay then." 

" _Okay then_ ," his father repeats in an identical tone. 

From his tent, Micah carefully lifts his head and catches a glimpse of the blonde's stoic smile to the other. 

The old man gives a tip of his hat to them all. 

"Make sure to stop by my clinic when you've got the payment," he reminds politely. He motions his horse around, turning it towards his traveling direction. "And when you do, I can take a look at your boy's wound to make sure it has healed right too. Free of charge." 

"Just need to figure out where I can earn some _honest_ money first, don't I?" 

There are a few moments of silence at first as the old man seems to draw between helping them out or not. Eventually, he does the first. "There's a lone ranch two miles north of town, belonging to the Briggs couple. I'm sure they could use a hand since Mr. Briggs been struggling lately. Why don't you try there?" 

"Yes. Why won't I." There isn't much excitement in Old Micah’s voice. 

"Beats camping out in the woods in the cold, I would reckon," the other points out with just as much nonchalance as before. With another tip of his hat, the old man rides off and leaves them. 

Micah pulls himself up on his elbows and the pounding in his side transforms into a warm shot of pain that spreads through the stretched skin around the stitches on his side. He decides to lift the quilt and examine. A whole lot of bandage had been used to wrap around his body and he is more than sore when brushing his palm over his damage. He cannot see how it looks like but he is certain it will leave a scar, the worst of its kind. Lucky enough, vanity had never been a dominant trait in Micah, especially not when his back is filled with scars far bigger than this one would ever be. 

When he lifts his head up again, his father suddenly sits by the opening to the small tent with his feet crossed. He does not look pleased. "Is it hurting much?"

"Hurts like hell."

"Well I hoped as much, so that's fucking good."

Micah gives a full smirk at his father being his usual self again. Of course he _would_ be. As if none of their conversations last night had ever taken place. "Is that so?"

"The least you deserve, I'd say. Your big mouth last night cost us a debt of a lousy couple of dollars I can't _even pay_ to the medicine man… and now we might have to sell Ema. That or scrap up a penny here and there like a beggar without his sanity," the man spits out. 

"No, pa! Please-" 

"Shut your mouth, Amos! I need to think!" Old Micah yells to Amos across camp, throwing a nearby coffee mug at his son's direction. The fourteen year old evades it with only an inch before he hurries over to his horse's side, holding her reins tightly as to protect her from his father's grasp. 

"Shit… we don't even got a goddamn _penny_ in our pockets, can you believe it??" The blonde's words come out as in a quiet growl. He bites down hard as he _thinks._

Micah wants to ask _since when_ his father cared about paying others for their services. 

"And he knows all our names since your brother forgot one of my clear as glass rules."

Amos lowers his head slightly by the mention of his mistake, although no one could see his regret. He runs his fingers through Ema's rough mane, a strong urge to just take her and ride off washing over him. But he couldn't leave them. Never. 

Micah grunts as he drags himself up to a sit too quickly than he could manage. "How the hell did the old man find us out here in the first place?" 

" _Amos_ found _him_ … You might not remember but I sent him away last night to get some help. And he did… in a town further up north. You would have been a rotting corpse by now if he hadn't." 

Micah glances over his father's shoulder and shares a look with Amos who gives a brief smile to him. 

Micah suddenly furrows his brows when realising who is missing. "Where's Arthur?" 

"He's got some other business to tend to."

"Is he alright?" 

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since he rode off last night."

"Well, where did you send him off _to?"_ Micah asks, sounding slightly irritated. 

A scrutinizing look leaves his father and Micah knows he is being read or at least trying to be read by the man. He had become better with locking his father out the last couple of years, able to pull off more and more lies than when he was a kid. This time, it's unsuccessful. 

"So you care for that boy after all. I'm surprised, Mikey." 

Micah can't deny it or lie about it. 

"He's fourteen," Micah points out, as if the boy's age is his excuse for being concerned about his well being and not the fact that he indeed cares about him. "He's never killed anyone in his miserable life." He takes a few second to ponder about the boy. "He'll be dead if them bandits find out he's watching them. 'Cause that's what he's up to, right?" 

His father's face close to lights up when Micah figures it all out by himself. "I'm glad you've started using that head of yours. I was starting to get worried." 

Micah is unaffected by the insulting praise. On the contrary, he chooses to _absorb_ it, saving the detest for another time for someone else. 

"Besides. Arthur haven't killed anyone in his life - _that we know of…_ He might be a kid still but he's got a whole lot of guts, more than I can say _you_ did, his age." The blonde thinks of how the child had taken off without any hesitation in his bones last night. Fearlessly so. "So I'm sure he'll be alright. He's managed to avoid getting _shot_ this far at least." 

Micah wants to spit in his father's face by the remark and more. If not for comparing him with Amos and Arthur over the years, than at least for him putting more weight on Micah’s mistake than on his well-being. 

Yesterday had been different. The man hadn't been able to keep his facade entirely, showing his vulnerable side for a short time. Letting his son know that it existed somewhere inside him. The awareness of this causes the air to become heavy between them. He shouldn't be surprised or disappointed that the part of his father had vanished but he can't help but be both, even after all this time of knowing not to expect anything from the man that is the reason he exists in this world. 

Micah bites on his tongue and subtly move his jaw left to right, ignoring his father's second insult. "So. What's your plan now, sir?" 

"Any other day, we would've been on our way yesterday. But we don't got any guns and we don't got any money. And we need both. No… we'll have to bide our time. You need to heal someplace proper for the next few days, or at least someplace warmer… I say we head for that ranch the doctor mentioned and I'll help them out for some cash to pay him with. Given that job we pulled off back south, it's only for the best to lie low for a while. We _don't_ want another bounty on our heads." 

Amos' shoulders sink down and he noticeably relaxes as he realises that they wouldn't sell off his horse. 

"Amos will wait for Arthur here and they can keep an eye on them bandits together. When you're all healed up, we return to them and take back what's ours. _Then_ we leave this godforsaken county." He turns his head and spits on the ground. "This time though… I say we head west and even further west."

The corners of Micah’s lips curl up. "West, huh?" 

"I don't think we fit in here no more." 

"I don't think we _ever_ did." 

His father exhales a short humorless chuckle. "Ain't that the truth." 

^^^

Micah bites down hard as he sits behind his father on a trotting Ree as they ride away from their camp. His father doesn't take it easy on him and his wounded body but Micah refuses to give him the pleasure of letting him know as much. He figures it isn't too bad after all and he is confident that he would recover properly within the same week at least. Not that he would know. 

He looks back over his shoulder and locks eyes with his brother that they are leaving behind along with Arthur, wherever in the world he was if he was even alive. 

The youngest brother had gotten clear instructions from the man. He would have to wait for Arthur's return and then they would set up a new camp. Mentioning a cave located next to a frozen creek, they had decided to make it their new safe spot. 

It feels wrong to split their group like this but Micah reminds himself it would only be for a week, give or take. Only until the man had gotten control of the situation and he himself had regained his strength. 

^^^

"Goddamn worthless PIECE of _shit!"_

It's unusual for the mellow Amos Bell to curse. Not because he found it foul but because he is used to keeping the feelings the language belonged with, deep inside. This day wasn't like any other though and he was unable to still himself inside, becoming obsessed with occupying himself with anything. 

Neither was he immune to the infuriating frustration one could get while things didn't go according to plan. On top of all that, his fingers were freezing but he felt clumsy and ineffective with his gloves on. 

He shoots up on his feet and throws the long stick that had broken in half far away from him and kicks at the big flat rock he had been kneeling on. One time, a second time and an eight time until his chest heaves rapidly up and down from the small but intense exertion. He growls out to no one in particular because there is no one around but a startled Ema. 

If the bandits had only left one lousy knife behind, then he wouldn't have to sit around trying to sharp a goddamn stick like a caveman for protection. His bow lies untouched for now, needing arrows to deserve to be called a weapon in the first place. 

He looks around frantically for a stick that isn't as weak as the first, kicking around in the snow before looking up at the trees instead of searching the ground. 

He jumps up on Ema and balances himself on her back as he reaches up for a slender piece of branch in the perfect size. With all his power, he tries to break and bend it off. He focuses on it fully that he takes one wrong step and loses his footing on the saddle. Ema takes off a few yards with a couple of heavy puffs from her nostrils as Amos falls down with a yelp. 

Landing on his feet and then on his backside, he spits out a curse but feels triumphant when the branch breaks off and follows down with him. He quickly rips off any small twig growing from it. 

He takes it and heads for the small fire to burn the end of the new stick. At the same time, he takes in his surroundings in the new and bright early day, making sure no dangers are lurking around. He pulls the stick out of the fire and inspects the charred point of it. 

Amos brushes more powdered snow off of the flat rockside he had been stomping and kicking on a few minutes prior before he positions himself over it on his knees. With a deep breath, he starts rubbing the end of the stick against the rock surface back and forth. 

Patiently, he repeats the procedure with the fire and rub against the rock until the pointed end is sharp enough to sting upon pressing his fingertip to it. Standing up and holding it at the same level of his eyes upon examining, he can hear the heavy hooves from a trotting horse getting closer. 

Turning his head sideways, he watches the rider from the corner of his eye and slumps down his tense shoulders by the sight. 

"Amos," Arthur calls out to him and almost jumps off Tido before she's managed to slow down. 

"Arthur." He lowers his new weapon and lets the end rest against the ground. 

Arthur’s eyes drifts over the small camp and he hurriedly searches the two tents in confusion. 

"It's just you and me. He took Micah someplace safe where he could heal. A ranch up north." 

"A _ranch?"_ Arthur takes a few hesitant steps to stand in front of his friend. "Is he-" 

Amos nods a few quick times. "He'll live." 

Arthur’s gaze lowers for a second and he nods too as he looks up again, releasing the breath he had been holding. 

"I found this town and asked for help. Had to wake the doctor up there and drag him out here… Micah was nearly gone for but he stitched him up and then he came to, a couple of hours ago..." The blonde child pulls the corner of his mouth as if there's more. He looks somber. 

"Well, that's good news, ain't it…?" Arthur breathes out with a squint of his eyes. 

"Yeah…but the bad news is I accidentally gave away our names… _and_ we owe him some money but we _don't got_ any money to pay him with… and he didn't say it out loud, b-but he'll probably go to the Sheriff if we don't pay what we owe and… and you can figure out the rest…" Amos hurries it all out, speaking like he's thinking in his own head. 

"But I know where the bandit camp is… so why the hell are we not heading there, I ask?" Arthur questions. "Then we can leave this place for good!" 

"Cause Micah is in no condition to ride long-a-ways, let alone take on them bandits, Arthur…!" the other exclaims. "And pa… he's just trying to lay low for now… pay the debt and when it's paid, we can focus on getting our stuff back… _Together_. He said that we should set up a new camp and then watch those bandits for a few days but that we shouldn't make a move. Not until he and Micah gets back."

Arthur paces around, deep in thought. "There was only five of 'em… and two of 'em looked like Micah’s age. Maybe even younger…" He taps his fingers over his chin. "If we keep an eye on them… We could sneak in there during the night… just to take a look. We just need to stay quiet and they won't even know we're there."

" _Only_ five? Five _ruthless_ outlaws?" Amos repeats in sarcasm that transforms into something more furious. " _J_ _eez_ , Arthur, I guess it should be no problem for the two of us, I mean… we've got this… this damn _stick_ to hold 'em up with!" He demonstrates his makeshift weapon and then sends it away with a forceful throw and choked growl. "That should scare them off, shouldn't it?!" 

An surprised expression leaves Arthur by Amos' rant, not used to the other child losing his temper. He knows it's because of the circumstances, and since being pretty shook up himself after previous night, he couldn't really blame him. "Easy, there, Ame… I'm just suggesting we do exactly what _pa-_ " Arthur stops himself instantly in the sentence, knowing that Amos had picked up on his mistake as well. He swallows uncomfortably and corrects himself. "I'm just saying that we do what _your pa_ told you and keep watch on 'em… _but_ if we get an opportunity, I say we take it…" 

Arthur continues to tell Amos about everything he had observed during the night. To convince him if carried out with thorough planning, it shouldn't be impossible. How hard could it be? 

"What if we _do_ get caught? That rotten weasel-looking type shot Micah… What makes you think he won't do the same to us…?"

"I don't think they're as ruthless as they try to give away… 'We're only trying to get by'. Didn't they say something like that?" 

"Well, _yeah_ , but that don't mean anything-" 

"You know what?" Arthur interrupts and brushes off Amos' doubtful spirit. "I think I'll have to agree with Micah on this one… I think they're just a bunch of cowards. All yellow. And I say we head down there to take a look… they won't see us." 

Amos sighs heavily and walks over to the stick he had thrown away and picks it up. A minute or two passes by as Amos consider Arthur's suggestion about taking the matter into their own hands, defying his father's orders. 

He had never been one to drag trouble upon them, at least not on purpose. So sneaking on five thieves out in the middle of nowhere wasn't exactly his usual first plan of the day. 

But thinking about the raging battle inside of him this day, showing outwards in his mood swings, he knows it's all because of last night.

Amos isn't hateful by nature but he knows that hate is the only thing filling his body that moment. He reminds himself of how it felt inside as he witnessed his brother getting shot. How he promised Micah he would kill the lot of them. It wasn't a lie then and he is frightened by himself as he realises it might not be a lie now either. He _wanted_ to kill them. At least that red haired bastard. But he was afraid to. 

"We'll keep an eye on them," Amos repeats. 

"Yeah." 

"But we _ain't_ sneaking down there, Arth… Pa said we should wait for 'em. That's just another way of telling us not to do anything stupid." 

Arthur looks at him disappointed from under the brim of his hat. "Don't he always tell us to think for ourselves, too, Ame?" he points out. 

"I _am_ thinking for myself, Arthur. And I say no…" He gives an emphasizing shrug of his shoulder. "No." 

Arthur bites on his lips but reluctantly accepts the other's decision. He then gives half a smile to Amos to let him know it was fine. "C'mon then, we can check out that cave we're supposed to make camp at. Then we can ride to the bandits' camp." He hastes around to Tido. "Just to keep an eye on 'em…" he assures. 

Amos lingers for a few seconds. Absently feeling over the sharp end of the stick one more time as he ponders, drifting away slightly in his thoughts. 

"We can set up a few of your snares on the way too. We don't know how long we'll be out here for," Arthur suggests while turning Tido around. "You can show me how you do them." 

"Ye- yeah. Sure." Amos hurriedly goes through his satchel to make sure he's gotten everything necessary for it, having packed all the rest of their stuff already as he had awaited Arthur earlier. Then he grabs the bow from the ground, reminding himself he needed to craft arrows and he needed to craft plenty of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2020-08-21:   
> Unfortunately I don't know if this will be finished despite how much I want to. I had and still have so many ideas but my creativity has hit rock bottom. It's pretty shit. 
> 
> To those of you that's been reading this far, thank you.


End file.
